


Cold

by ThursdayNight95



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, Self-Discovery, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2020-10-11 03:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 16,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20539730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThursdayNight95/pseuds/ThursdayNight95
Summary: This is Sturges' second winter out of Quincy and it's getting harder to deal with. How did he survive? Why was he of all people one of the lucky ones?We follow him and his journey through survivor's guilt and wanting to just get through this cold, unfeeling winter....and also warrens there





	1. Chapter 1

His kindness wasn't lost on you, it was just... strange. He had his circle of friends, a few wastelanders who were his types of people-- druggies and the kinds of folk who knew how to pick people off from a mile away. Hancock and Nate were his favorites. You saw the chem exchange between the two often and would hear Warren slur about the aftermath to Nate (who didn't care) at the bar the night after.

Nate had spared him, charmed him into being a part of this growing town. Of course he liked Nate. Everyone liked Nate.

Sometimes Deacon would come around. Warren would call him an egghead, invite him to the bar and he'd talk on and on about whatever was on his mind. Deacon would sit with his hand on his cheek, tired eyes behind his sunglasses, listening like he was getting paid.

And you.

He loved giving you gifts, despite barely speaking a word to him. Any attempt you'd make were thwarted by him running away. So many books, toys, trinkets and magazines made their way into your house, even bleeding into the Red Rocket! At one point you'd tried giving him something in return. Nothing special but a little fish you'd whittled from some wood on your break. He loved the sea and all its inhabitants after all. But once you presented it, he gasped like he was about to jump in the water and ran off.

Your work was more important than whatever game he was playing so you didn't push any more interaction for a while.

The storm yesterday had carried winter on its back and dumped it on the commonwealth. Luckily the heaters you and the other handymen had been piecing together were working and safe-- so long as you took some Rad-X before you went to bed. Blankets were distributed and people were asking for coats.

Last year, Nate and Warren had gone on a hunt for coats and materials and came back with so much you could've sworn they'd happened upon a coat factory. This year Nate was going with Paladin Danse and Warren wanted nothing to do with "that fucking racist tin can".

Paladin Danse was an interesting character, but he, like the other Brotherhood soldiers, took excellent care of their beautiful suits of power armor. He'd even come to you for repairs. And while the Brotherhood's demeanor and attitude towards everything non-human was disgusting, you felt compelled to help. If he wasn't in power armor you would've claimed to be busy all of the sudden. What did that say about you?

Regardless, Warren was now attemptig to light a cigarette in the cold wind and mumbling about betrayal and complaining that Nate could've at least brought Hancock or Deacon over.

The lighter went out.

And again.

And again.

He cursed and kicked the ground.

"Hey, Warren!" You called. Why did you call, knowing that he'd probably run?

"I'd recognise your country-ass voice anywhere." he grumbled, boots dragging across the gravel to sit next-- and awfully close-- to you on the bench. "Weird to see you sittin' down. What, you cold?"

"Not too cold." You admitted. This man had a particular presence around him. Violent, scared, angry angry angry. "I got a light."

"Ah, yeah?" he presented his cigarette to you expectantly. Once lit he thanked you and took a deep drag. He seemed comfortable. Probably liked being around people. "So I heard you're a Quincy survivor."

You let out an inconspicuous "yeah." like you didn't just feel your entire life flash before your eyes.

"Mm. Shitty situation, that. Glad you made it out, though. Without you, I wouldn't be havin' a smoke right now."

He presented you an entire pack of cigarettes. You couldn't accept that entire thing, but he wouldn't let you deny it.

You lit one and sat with him in the cold on the bench, wishing the first thing he'd said to you wasn't about that.

"So, what're we gonna do when the Brotherhood takes our crops, huh? At least we can kill raiders. And I saw you fix up the paladin's armor. Shit's bulletproof."

"I'd hope the General doesn't get too involved." you admitted. "We got people from all walks of life comin' here. Humans, ghouls, I'm sure we have some synths here..." The stars peeked from the night clouds to remind you they were there. "Don't need the Brotherhood snuffin' them out."

"Yeah. I think Nate's got a crush on the tin can. I mean, I'd probably suck him off," he said of Danse, like that was something you said to acquaintances. "but he's a dick."

"Uh huh." You nodded. The breeze shoved its way between you two. He visibly shivered and held to his elbow. "Wanna come inside? I fixed up my radio, and we can read all those magazines you gave me."

He followed you in and looked so much more embarrassed in the light. Patting his pockets for something he didn't have and avoiding looking in your direction.

"Do I have somethin' on my face?" You chunked a couple of logs into your dead fireplace and lit it. By the sounds of it, Warren made himself comfortable on the couch.

"No. I mean, other than your face is all."

He had a scarf over half his face when you looked at him next.

"Yeah, I guess I kept my Halloween mask on too late, huh?" you chuckled.

"I didn't mean it like that! Y-you're real handsome... Uh." he cleared his throat and shifted positions on the couch again, adjusting the scarf some more with scarred, furrowed eyebrows.

He was a flirt, but it felt wrong to invite him to your house to tease him. You brought the ashtray over and mentioned you had food to spare. And once you came back with reading material he almost choked on the smoke from his cigarette and covered his face again.

"Is it that cold in here?" Warren was concerning. What was he like as a travelling companion, you wondered?

"No. It's real toasty. Might be too hot." he shifted positions again.

What a strange person.

"Oh, uh, I can let some cool air in, then." What did he want from you? Was there something wrong with your house? Did it stink?

He smushed his cigarette in the ashtray and plucked a Grognak comic from the pile, noting how this issue was his favorite one because the trickster was badass. He tensed up when you leaned over to look.

"You can be real with me, Warren, do I smell bad or somethin'? I didn't get my extra shower the other night."

His eyes widened and he shook his head quickly. This was like a totally different Warren than the one you'd seen for the past two years. No longer was he haughty and bold and eager to catch someone in a lie so he could laugh. You caught his eyes for a moment-- deep, brilliant brown, save for the cataract in his left eye. And judging by the scars on his face, his life before Sanctuary wasn't an easy one. His cheeks were bright red and he brought his fallen scarf back over the bottom half of his face.

"Thanks. For inviting me over." His voice was unusually warm. "I've always wanted to just invite myself over, but someone like you, uh... I'd feel like I was barging in."

"You're welcome in anytime. Just knock first." you winked. His breath visibly hitched and he darted over to the magazines, asking what your favorites were.

"Hold on." you pulled out some whiskey and some cups. "You're so tense it's stressin' *_me_* out." You poured him two shots worth and made some for yourself.

"I, uh, didn't want you to see my face so close." he admitted, pulling his scarf down all the way to gulp down his drink.

"You were makin' me think you were missin' your jaw! It's just some scars, War." They probably hurt like a bitch, too.

"You don't think I'm ugly?"

"Was that what you were nervous about?" you chuckled. "You're fine, Warren. Now would ya stop bein' so stressed and read some comics with me?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Mind answerin' somethin' for me?"

You both were bundled in layers of clothes (Warren had his assault mask on again), warm with coffee and general comaraderie. For someone so rough in everything he did, he was sure meticulous with his weapons. Everything had to be just right, if a screw was too wonky, it had to be replaced, if it 'looked fucking stupid' he considered just breaking it down for parts.

"Hmph. Sure." He grumbled. He didn't like your gun.

"We only really talked last night. Why've you been givin' me gifts the past couple years, then runnin' away when I tried to make conversation?"

A screw dropped on the table and he cursed.

"Look, I ain't any fuckin' good making friends." there was that gravel, that rough raggedy voice you were used to hearing. It was almost scary. It almost threw you back into the flame and gunfire in Quincy, but you kept your focus in the now. "You're pretty intimidating."

"Me?" You laughed. "What for? Was it the muscle?"

"My mom used to say good people have this big, golden aura." he polished your gun off and peeked through the new sights. Grunted and handed it to you to see if it was to your standards. Considering you'd rather not have a gun at all, this was excellent.

Warren continued with his arms folded against his chest, looking at you lazily.

"My aura is pretty much... the opposite of gold. So it's kinda like a murderer walking up to a saint asking to be buds."

"Well I don't know enough about you. Sounds like that's a good thing." Judging by his voice and general attitude, you were 99% sure he was a raider. But to what extent and for how long? Were you better off trying to befriend Paladin Danse?

Raiders weren't your friends. Warren knew this.

"Yeah."

Now he pulled out some broken guns and started pulling them apart with a somber cloud over his head.

"Could you help me mod guns?"

"Didn't you tell me your stupid ass hated guns? You flip-floppin' on me?" he demanded.

"No, I just like tinkerin' is all. You got all sorts of know-how I wanna know too."

"Anyone ever tell you you got pretty eyes?" He handed you a screwdriver with his compliment, voice soft and sweet like before. "You could tell me to jump off a building and I'd probably do it. Anyway," he excused your dumbfounded stare and pushed a few cold guns your way. "help me get these broken up and we can get started."

Strange was the only word you could use to describe this guy. Who tells a guy they'd jump off a building for you in their second conversation? Hell, maybe it was just a joke and you didn't know any better. Hearing him call Nate a "sexy TV dinner" was commonplace. And often he'd flirt relentlessly with Deacon and Hancock. You were probably no different and looking too deep into things because, somewhere deep inside, you were smitten with him.

You were what people called "easily impressed" when it came to others. Maybe that was a problem.

Whatever. Him teaching you to mod guns better would be a big deal! Imagine how much more you could help once you got as good as this guy was.

The parts were... apart, and now it was learning time. You focused hard and took notes and asked questions like you were being tutored. Warren had some haughtiness in his voice again and ended up going on tangents about the oil and the metal and the gunpowder and the screws... Jesus, he talked a lot. Maybe Nate wasn't interested in guns like he was.

But his eyes glinted with excitement and how he looked at you with such eagerness to hear your opinion on revolvers. You shared his 'they look cool as hell' opinion but, in the end,

"I'd rather not use one at all."

His warm glow turned to a disgusted glare.

"Tough shit, softie. This is the world we're livin' in." he finished up the handle on the pistol he was working on and buttoned his coat up. "Your little pipe pistol won't do you much good out here. But you knew that, right?"

"It's no missile launcher." you snorted. It made him smile, so it wasn't that bad.

"Yeah. Look, I'm gonna make you something good." he decided, the chair speaking as he leaned back on it. "But you gotta stop bein' such a flake and tell me what you really *_want_* in a gun."

"I just want protection is all. That's it."

He massaged his temples.

"Okay. So a shotgun is stupid powerful, but loud and has shitty range," he pulled out some plans from his bag and showed them to you. "I can modify one to make it longer range, but if you're gonna be fighting off the shit that attacks us... Mmm..." He stared at you for a moment, then rifled through his notes. "I gotta find a weapon that screams 'Sturges'. Literally."

"That'd be pretty damn impressive if you could make a gun scream my name." You chuckled. "Warren, don't put too much time or stock into it, really. I'm pretty set in my ways."

"Mhm. I know. Retard." he muttered.

"You really gotta cool it with the name-callin'. I don't know you that well yet." You said firmly. "I get bein' kinda mean's your thing, but I don't appreciate it."

He bit his lip and decided on a gun.

"Okay, *_sweetheart_*, I'm thinkin' right now I'll fix your current gun up all nice. Since it's a pipe pistol, I can do a lot. Except make it as good as a laser rifle or whatever." He shrugged. "Once that's done, I'll start makin' you somethin' amazing. Just give me two weeks."

"I appreciate it, but I don't have money to pay ya for all that."

"You bein' safe is all I care about."

What a weird guardian angel.


	3. Chapter 3

Days grew colder, and the nights felt like how you imagined the Arctic felt like.

"Come sit by the fire." Preston suggested.

Today was one of those days where you just couldn't. The screaming, the smell of burning bodies-- burning *_people_*, gunshots and fear froze you worse than the weather did. Why would human beings burn other human beings alive? Why couldn't you have helped?

"I gotta make sure the water heaters are workin'."

The water heaters were just fine. Grass crunched under your boots, people were talking amongst themselves about trading and how their days went and how they were looking forward to Christmas. The bridge was slick with sleet, but you crossed it and found yourself at the Red Rocket. For a moment you considered going in and busying yourself with the power armor you'd set aside for a rainy day. Instead you lit a cigarette against the wet, biting wind and--

Shit. It went out.

You flicked your lighter in vain before furiously shoving the cigarette and the lighter back in your coat pockets.

Why were you so mad?

And why were you of all people still alive? You had goods to bring to the table, sure, but so did all those others. All the happy well-meaning people with big dreams, all the kids just starting their lives, innocent, innocent people... Just ripped from this world for no reason. And you and a handful of others survived. Not that you weren't thankful for another shot at life! It just...

"You're kinda far from home, handyman."

His voice ripped you out of your thoughts and back into the cold, rainy reality.

"Yeah." your voice was hoarse. "Just goin' for a walk."

"Well come back to your house by tonight. I got some moonshine I've been dyin' to drink with ya. Heh. Saw your face light up."

"I ain't one to pass up drinkin' with a buddy. See you tonight."

Warren pulled something from his bag and presented it to you.

"Now I know this is pretty fuckin' retarded," he shifted his weight to one foot. He was shivering, probably eager to get to some warmth. "but you look real down. Just give this bad boy a squeeze--" he squeezed it and chuckled at you jumping out of your skin. "-- Mm, maybe it won't make your scared ass too happy. Hug it anyway."

He gave you his gift and continued on his way.

A little toy sloth. It smelled like hot leather and saltwater. He liked the sea. So did you.

Your walk continued ten more minutes, thinking about how you and your Quincy friends would go sit on the shore with your beer after a hard day's work and just chill.

What did you have to give back to the world that your friends didn't?


	4. Chapter 4

This world was horrifying. At some points you envied the dead. When you were at peace you didn't have to worry anymore about raiders or deathclaws or whatever other bullshit the people before the war left you all with. Some said the Chinese dropped the bombs first, others said Vault-Tec. The creative types said the Institute did it.

... The Institute. Them and their stealing people had been bad enough, but somehow they stole the Minuteman General's son, Shaun. So it was possible the Institute could have something to do with the bombs. But why destroy the world to steal a baby?

Why turn people into spies and sow seeds of distrust among the disturbed of the Commonwealth? Why did humans hate peace?

"Askin' me about synths..." Warren said through his bread. "Why? Are you one?"

"Not as far as I know, anyway." you admitted. "Hope I'm not."

"Ah yeah? Why not?" He noticed the stuffed sloth (you named him Ren) sat on your nightstand. The corner of his lip twitched into a smile and he went back to looking at you. "Synths can live forever, if they're lucky."

"I don't wanna live forever. I wanna make the best of the life I have, but... It's like bein' a vampire. You'd watch everyone you know and love die around you while you just sit there, all alone."

Wind howled outside.

The bed squeaked.

"You put up a real good facade, you know that?" Warren chuckled. "Kinda took ya for a jock at first. Big and strong but kinda empty in the head."

"Gee, thanks." You rolled your eyes.

"That was before I saw you building the radio tower. Anyway... I mean, synths can still die. They're just like us. But Institute spies."

"I don't wanna work for the enemy. What about you, Warren?"

"Dunno. I've met a lotta cool runaway synths." he met your eyes for a split second.

Suspicious. Real suspicious.

He gulped down the last of his beer and leaned back in the chair (he didn't wanna push any boundaries by sitting in the bed with you). Deep breath.

... Was he a synth?

Were you a synth and didn't even know it?

"I don't think they're all bad. If you were killed and replaced by a synth I'd go crazy."

"Why's that? We haven't known each other long. I, uh, appreciate your affection, though."

Now he was red in the face, rubbing his cheeks, eyes darting back and fourth.

"If you're gonna tell me some crazy stuff, like me being a synth or somethin' could we save it for some other time?" It *_was_* cute to see him flustered though.

He cleared his throat and dropped the glass bottle in the basket.

"I wasn't gonna tell you anythin' important. As for me carin' so much about you... You remind me of someone I used to know. You turned out to be even cooler than him, though." There was that soft voice again.

"Oh yeah?"

"Knew a guy named Dean in Far Harbor. He liked hot rods and stuff. We were buds for a while, we'd talk all night and fish all day."

"You were a fisherman?"

That explained his ocean knowledge and a handful of his scars.

"I wasn't gay for him or anything, weirdly enough. He just felt like a best friend. But then the Fog rolled in..." he bit his lip, fingers tight against a leather flap on his armor. "The Fog is a shitty fuckin' thing. Turned him crazy. He turned into a fucking cannibal and tried to kill me." he cleared his throat again and blinked several times. "It's never fun to put down a friend.

"Sorry, uh, if it seemed like I was usin' you to remind me of the past. It was that way at first, seein' what looked like ol' Dean's long lost brother, but..." he never bothered to finish his sentence. He was lost in thoughts and memories of days better and worse than today and yesterday.

"Am I creepin' you out?" he asked suddenly.

"No! I just got a lot on my mind is all. Coulda ya tell me some more about your time in Far Harbor? That's... Hm, in Maine, right?"

He lumbered from the chair to sit on the bed with you so he could tell you the stories of his island life. His voice was enthralling, he was a natural storyteller. You were glad he was here.


	5. Chapter 5

Hot chocolate! You'd had it once or twice before. The gritty sweetness of it warmed your heart and tastebuds. It made the Radaway taste better, at least.

'They used to drink this all the time before the war,' Marcy explained. 'Kyle said they even stirred this stuff up with candy canes.'

'Yeah,' Kyle nodded, taking time to savor his drink. 'I don't think we'll find any of those around though. Too fragile.'

You blinked and shook your head. Stop getting lost in the past, you begged yourself. I can't be all depressed like this, I got people to make happy.

You didn't suffer like the Long family. You don't know what it feels like to lose a son.

Marcy currently was tending to the crops. No, there wasn't much to do in the winter, but she liked it. Jun was trying out the hot chocolate, probably remembering how he and his family tried it out back in Quincy.

Sad and angry were all the Long family were now and it wasn't fair. The pain on Jun's face was overwhelming and you went over to talk to him.

"Hey Jun." You smiled for him. He often smiled back but it was really only to show you he still could.

"Oh... Hey Sturges." his meager voice barely rose above the noise of the small crowd. "Great job on the heaters."

"No problem. How're you holdin' up?"

"It's still... really hard. Especially around winter... Remember the decorations we'd put around the houses? Kyle loved making snowflakes and putting them on the doors."

Oh boy did that punch you in the gut.

"I'll tell you what, Jun. I'll get the General to give me some of his blueprints for those string lights and some white fabric and we'll do it up real nice this Christmas." There was a lump in your throat. Voices of people who weren't there crowded your head, your face felt hot.

"T-thanks, Sturges... Let me know when, I wanna help."

You sipping the hot chocolate probably made things worse. The world blurred with tears and it was time to leave as smoothly as possible.

"I will. I'm gonna find those plans right now."

Luckily he didn't say anything before you left. It was all you, walking as inconspicuously to a quiet place to try and center yourself. It was fine. You gave yourself a project to distract yourself with. You needed it and hopefully it would make everyone else smile. Everyone needs a smile.


	6. Chapter 6

"Ooh, always workin' on somethin'." Warren leaned against the wall and looked at you rather than the work you were doing."Is it those lights Jun was talkin' about?"

"Yep. We're gonna put 'em up over town, hopefully better than last year."

"Uh huh." He tilted his head. "I heard you guys had hot chocolate and didn't invite me."

"If you weren't all the way in Goodneighbor I would've." You chuckled. "Could you pass me that tape?" You thanked him and got to very carefully fixing the wires. "Bet you get all sorts of hot chocolate there, if you catch my drift."

"Oh, I caught it." Now he chuckled. "I didn't do any chems though, I promise."

For some reason you accepted that.

"Oh!" you made sure your components wouldn't fly away in the wind and pulled Warren into your house.

"Whoa-- we havin' hot chocolate or somethin', handyman??"

"You wish." you rifled through your closet and there is was! It was a little project you'd been working on since he started talking about Far Harbor. Nothing too fancy, but...

His eyes went wide as the moon for a second. Another smile, just for you. His fingers brushed yours as you passed it off.

"Did you make yourself one?" He inspected the fishing pole, biting back another smile, then looked at you expectantly.

"Didn't even think about that." You admitted. Jesus Christ why was this making you feel so giddy?

"I wanted a fishing buddy," he nudged you. "I'm... You really made this. You didn't find it and fix it up, you... You *_made_* this."

"I didn't make the reel, though. I don't have enough gears." You said sheepishly.

Before you knew it you were in a big warm hug that cracked your back. His heart raced against yours, he was tense, but it loosened once you hugged him back. Your face was virtually buried in his shoulder so he surely felt your smile.

It was nice, being hugged like this. You'd never seen him overcome with such positive emotions before.

It was worth keeping in mind that he already admitted he was willing to die for you after your second real conversation together, and continued to reinforce it when he had the chance.

"Let's fish together sometime." he said warmly. "I got a fuck ton of magazines and--" his voice turned to a whisper. "I found a working pip-boy! We can listen to the radio. Drinkin' an' fishin'..."

"Sounds like a lotta fun, War." Your heart felt full. How lucky you were to have a friend like him.


	7. Chapter 7

Everyone had their traumas. Some had it worse than others and for some reason your mind had you convinced that yours was somehow the end of the world. You attempts at ignoring these stupid fucking thoughts were met with your brain pushing it all to the front of your mind. Look at me!! it demanded. Replay everyone's deaths again and again and again until you get sick. Until the anxiety makes you vomit.

Mama Murphy noted how skinny you were looking. It was hard to keep down any food lately but you ate for her sake, remembering how she would eat for your sake back in Quincy. You ended up vomiting thirty minutes later.

Jun really enjoyed helping. There was a hint of light in his eyes again even if it was just a moment. Marcy, however, complained about how it would just draw in more raiders and how it would get you all killed. Jun was shocked into silence.

"C'mon now, Marcy. We gotta have a little fun. Doesn't this place look cheerful?" You suggested.

"No, now we're sticking out like a sore thumb! If we get killed it's all on you people."

Her grief came through anger and paranoia. It was like someone flipped a switch and the only-bitter-sometimes Marcy became impossible to talk to. Sure, she talked to Jun, but...

"Sturges is right though. We did a good job." Jun said weakly, stepping off the ladder and to grab his wife's hand. She was hesitant, but took it.

"Sure. A good job making us a target. Come inside, Jun, it's cold."

Jun thanked you. It was really all you needed from him. That smile and a thanks. His smile brought you to the thought of Warren's smile, bright brown eyes and an almost boyish look on his rough face.

Where was he right now? He stowed the fishing pole safe in Nate's house in fear of snapping it while they were out scavenging. Hopefully he was safe. Please, if nothing else, be safe.


	8. Chapter 8

Sometimes you still woke up in that old church. The scent of the sun-baked streets and wood, the cool breezes carried promises of a generally alright day. Part of you swore you could still hear the prayers of those who spent so much time there, devoted to who they thought would save them. Those skeletons you gingerly moved from the pews to the small graveyard-- who were they? What were their names and stories? Were any of them related to you by any chance? Or maybe even Nate?

It was a cold, unforgiving morning today. Pipes froze and burst open during the night. The water heater's busted. Some of the heaters stopped working and there were a few settlers with the flu. You worked until your fingers felt like they were gonna snap off in your gloves.

"Sturges." That friendly voice was Preston. He'd wandered over to your exhilarating work at the water heater. "I didn't see you at breakfast today."

"Yeah." You meant to explain yourself but what was there to say? But it came off as rude and you felt terrible about it. "I just wasn't hungry."

"But you haven't been at lunch or dinner either."

Why was everyone suddenly concerned about your diet? Did you really look that skinny? Maybe your cheeks were sunken in and your eyes were bulging out. Or were you acting distant? Maybe you were being rude and abrasive, which lead to people noticing more off things about you.

Or maybe you're just thinking way too much.

"Sorry boss." You said in earnest. "Winter just makes me kinda sad sometimes is all. Probably the lack of sun."

"Well, make sure you're eating. We'd hate to see you waste away."

What a weird thing to say. He offered you some cram and Fancy Lads, claiming Warren told him you really liked the Fancy Lads. It was true, but you never told Warren that.

"Is he here?" You asked of Warren.

"Nope. Still out with Nate. Should be back tomorrow." Preston paused. "You're... Not scared of him?"

"Not really. Why?" Someone was rough and gruff as Warren had certainly made his impressions in Sanctuary. You knew they weren't good.

"Nate told me--" Preston stopped himself. Shook his head. "I'll let Warren tell you."

You tried to eat food later that day but it wouldn't stay down. Chances were you were getting sick too. Not that you ever caught the colds that the others did, but when the wind froze you to the bone like this, it was possible.

Your throat hurt, your body ached. Water was your best friend, despite it being a slush.

Warren had another secret. It wasn't your place to pry it out of him, he'd tell you when he was ready.

But what were the odds of him having something to do with Quincy? None, right? He didn't act like a gunner.

It was obvious that Warren used to be a raider. Is that what Preston was trying to say? But did he do something bad recently? Did he kill some of the survivors you guys were running with before you got to Concord?

Fuck! Who cares! Your stomach was empty and at this point you were just dry heaving.

It would make sense, though, with Warren's odd sense of loyalty to you, a man he barely knew.

Shut up. Stop thinking. Weren't there more plans to get to?


	9. Chapter 9

"Merry Christmas, handyman."

A beautiful set of T-51 power armor loomed above you. Yeah, it was rusted and cold, but all she would need is some tinkering and polishing and she'd be perfect.

"Might wanna clean out the helmet some more. Nate told me the tubes are full of piss." Warren explained, rewrapping his scarf against the wind.

"He's right." You chuckled. He liked that you were hugging him. Maybe it was because you were so warm. "This model can be lived in, I think. It turns your piss into perfectly drinkable water. How cool is that?"

"Aw, you're into piss? I didn't take you for a fuckin' degenerate."

You let him go and inspected the pieces. Warren watched intently. He listened to you go on and on about the lining and the metal and the specifications and advantages this model had over the others.

"Hey. Can I ask why you like this shit so much? I mean, it's cool I guess, but."

"My old man used to make his own power armor. He was kinda like a hero, usin' the armor to help all these people and lift cars and chunks of buildings."

"Oh yeah? So you said this model's real fuckin' strong, was it this, uh... T-51? Or did he just use the frame and the shit he made? To lift shit."

"Are you askin' to make me feel better about talkin' your ear off for 20 minutes or because you really wanna know?"

"I really wanna know." There was that softness in his voice again. Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn't help but smile.

"Alright. Well, let's get to the Red Rocket so I can fix 'er up by the heater."


	10. Chapter 10

"Hey, easy on that shit." Warren snatched the whiskey from your hands and polished it off like it was just a sip and not the other half of the bottle. "I get you're tryin' to drown your memories or misery or whatever in alcohol but it's too fucking cold for that."

"But you just drank the other half!" You frowned. "Alcohol warms you up anyway, don't it?"

"Fuck no. Only brain-dead retards believe that." he scoffed and shoved some blankets onto you. "It lowers your body temperature. Had a lotta people I ran with drop dead from hypothermia after gettin' drunk an' sleepin' outside."

"... So why do I catch still catch you drinkin' on your dock?" You wrapped some blankets around yourself and offered the other two to him. With some apprehension, he took them.

"Well I'm no handsome, hardworking handyman with a good heart now am I?"

"I'd say you are." You admitted. His eyes went wide and you saw him catch his breath. Was it cruel, what you were doing? "Anyway, thanks for the info. I'll be sure to let everyone else know, if they don't already."

"Hey. Can I ask you something?" He scooted closer to you, lip between his teeth, scarred eyebrows knit together. "Can you tell me more about your childhood? Do you remember it?"

"I mean, yeah. But this ol' noggin' is gettin' kinda foggy lately. Why? You sound like you're suspicious of me."

"Uh. I just... We haven't met before this? Before Sanctuary, I mean?"

"I dunno. You wore a mask for the first two years I saw ya. And you probably did while you were in your raider outfits." He tensed and scooted back again. "Do you think you saw me?"

"Uh... Did Nate tell you about all that o-or somethin'? Cuz I don't remember if I told you or not. Why would I tell a settler that I used to be a raider? Fuck!" he growled, clutching the blanket tighter around himself.

"You didn't. But I could tell. Uh, no offense."

You two sat in silence a little too long for your liking.

Could you hear your own heart beating?

Could he hear it?

Can he see how the hairs on your neck are standing on end?

Could he read your mind and see all the horrible things you'd suffered through?

Was it his fault?

"Doooooo you hate me?" he asked.

"Unless you had something to do with the massacre at Quincy and trying to kill the survivors... Not personally." you paused. "Depends on how twisted of a raider you were anyway. I know that some people are raiders just to survive. Get roped up into things they never wanted to be apart of... That's life."

"I only liked the stealing and makin' people scared. Intimidation like that turns me on." he smirked a little. "Murdering innocent people ain't me."

"If you're tellin' me the truth then we're still on good terms, Warren. Dunno if that's me bein' biased because we're friends or not, though."

"We're friends?"

"Are you really gonna ask me that every time I say it?"


	11. Chapter 11

There was an attack on Sanctuary.

Sirens had blared in your ears and your blood pounded in your veins. Bile rose up in your throat and the world didn't feel real. Were you blinded with rage, sadness, or shame? You didn't feel like yourself, running out and directing civilians to the shelter.

Was it a dream?

Gunshots, war cries, grenades. People had come here to hurt innocent people again and you had to decide to either fight or run away like a coward again. Those fighting the raiders could die and break into the shelter and kill all the people you'd just herded in there.

Shouting. Shrieks of fear and death. A bullet whizzed by your head and you were trying your hardest to catch your breath.

Should you go out there and help them? Or stay with these people here? Could you protect them if a raider opened the place up? And what about Warren and Nate and Preston and all the other soldiers out there? Were you going to huddle up like a coward again?

"Oh, Sturges, you're safe!" someone breathed. What was their name again? Were they going to die? Were your friends going to die? How could you abandon them like this?

"Okay. I know you all are scared in here," your voice was steady despite the scream wanting to leave your throat. "but we got a lotta amazing soldiers out there. We'll be out in no-time."

Was that true?

"I don't wanna die!!" a man shouted.

"You won't."

An explosion crashed in your ears, the ground shook, and the group let out sounds of pure anguish. You wanted to vomit.

"What helps me tough this stuff out is some music." you weaved your way through the trembling crowd and found the radio and turned it on. "Hopefully that Skeeter Davis song ain't on." you wheezed.

It was the best you could do as people were hyperventilating and passing out from such a dire situation. Guard the door and try to get them to sing. Please, lift the morale, please distract me, please get me out of here I'm so tired.

How many songs had you all sung together? How many times has someone started sobbing and banging on the floor? Why do innocent people have to suffer like this?

You let some cry on your shoulders. All you could do was be strong for them.

"We're gonna make it out, you guys. I promise."

By now the gunfire had slowed to a stop. No more explosions, no more raiders snarling about whatever the fuck they came here for.

But you had just about shit your pants when someone started pounding at the door.

"It's Warren!" Oh thank god. You could breathe again.

'Isn't he a raider?'

'What if it's a trap?'

'What if they bribed him?'

These were very real concerns and it gave you pause.

"And Preston." Preston said through the door. "All's clear."

Even the light at dusk hurt your eyes. The smell of blood and gore was rocks in your stomach. Your eyes were drawn to the bodies of the raiders and damn how you wished you didn't look.

"We didn't lose anybody either." Warren said proudly. "Dumb fuck raider outfit had shitty guns. Pipe pistols barely do shit, especially when we're decked out." he motioned to his armor.

Him and Preston thanked you for keeping everyone safe. But, as usual with you, you didn't do anything but sit there and stave off a panic attack. Why was Warren calling you a hero? Was he being facetious? If so, why'd he sound so genuine?

"D-do we have any plans for reinforcing the walls?" Your voice was dust at this point. "And turrets. I need parts for the strongest ones we got."

Warren grabbed your chin and looked you in the eye. What did he possibly want from you?

"You're tired." he concluded, hand back to his belt now. "Get some sleep."

"You really expect me to sleep after all that?" you laughed. "I don't think I can."

"Take it from me, when raiders hear that a whole outfit got slaughtered tryin' to raid a place, they won't go near it for a few months."

"You deserve some rest, Sturges. Even if it's a few minutes." Preston concluded. "Keeping all those people as calm as you did was amazing. We have some tea in the medical tent to help you sleep."

Did you really keep anyone calm at all?

Why were you still shaking so much?


	12. Chapter 12

_ _

"Your eyes are so wide."

Warren's voice was as soft as the blanket he'd given you. He convinced you to at least lay down, please dude. Gave you a few packs of cigarettes but kept you away from the alcohol. You were half a pack in before you responded. Maybe it was stupid what you said, but it was either speak or your mind would bolt your mouth shut.

"You used to be one a them." you barely recognised your own voice.

"Yeah." he took a deep drag. "That was pretty fucking stupid of me."

"I-I just... How do I know...?"

"You think I called these retards over here?" you heard the hurt and betrayal in his voice. "I don't fucking live that life anymore. Not like I ever really wanted to go killing, raping, and stealing. Okay-- stealing, yeah." he finished of his cigarette and lit another one.

"I know... Sorry. I... I'm scared again. Not that I ever stopped bein' scared the first time, that is." You wiped your stupid tears and tried to keep yourself from just falling apart.

"You really helped those people in the shelter out. Heard 'em stop wailin' about 10 minutes in and figured you'd helped 'em out."

"I don't know about 'helped em out'. I just turned on the radio."

He pressed his rough, cracked hand to your forehead.

"The medics are makin' some sick kits. You guys are probably gonna get the flu now that you were all breathin' the same nasty fuckin' air in the shelter. Rad-chicken soup, mutfruit leaf tea, some shitty biscuits..."

"Warren... How do you live with all this?" you asked quietly.

He tensed.

"Y-you're not gonna do anything crazy, are ya?"

"No. I have too much work to do to keep people safe."

You heard him gulp.

"I ain't the one to go to for that question. I used chems, alcohol, sex... Yeah, those were the big three, to distract me from all the shit. But I don't want you to be like me. Fuck, for the first five years I was addicted to jet *_and_* psycho. Shocked that shit didn't kill me. Don't fuck with the chems. I catch you stickin' yourself, I'll kill ya." he said firmly.

"How do ya deal with the nightmares and the smell of death? The memories that keep playin' on repeat in your mind?"

He reached for your hand and squeezed it. This was a small, soft cushion to the concrete of misery you were trapped in.

"That's life, Sturges. I don't know what else to say. It's hard. Downright cruel. But we're stuck with it. I just try not to think about it too much." he paused. "Just wish you weren't the one feelin' this way. You're too good a soul."

"So are a lotta innocent people. And I'm still one of the folks who made it."

"I'm glad you are." he sighed. "Your heart is pounding. Let me get ya a warmer blanket, alright?"

He came back with a blanket he'd stashed by the fireplace. Toasty, smelled like the logs and filled you with comfort for just a moment before the memories of the burning bodies invaded your mind.

Why did you cry? What kind of man are you? What man just sits and cries for so long? Oh, you sobbed your heart out, like the tears could wash away the pain and the terrible memories. But Warren was kind and let you cry on him, like a scared child clinging to his mother. Shame, anger, misery.

You had lived to see another day, but if it was going to be like this, why did it matter?

He ran his fingers through your hair. Rubbed your back. His heart was racing too. He was silent, letting your embarrassing sobs echo through the empty house. The house that belonged to someone else who was vaporised by the nukes.

"You wore yourself out." Warren chuckled softly, voice as broken as yours. "Ain't nothin' wrong with a good cry, handyman."

"This is a weird request," you couldn't feel your throat. "maybe even a selfish, stupid one... But could ya sleep with me tonight?"

"W-what??" he sputtered. "Really? Y-you said you were--"

"Not like that," it hurt to smile. "I mean sleep in the same bed. You don't gotta, though."

"Handyman, you don't even have to ask. For either situation."

He got down to his long johns and sleep pants and got into the bed with you. That was probably the deepest sleep you'd had in years.


	13. Chapter 13

You were still here.

Living.

Breathing.

So were the other settlers. Shaken from last week's attack but still doing their best.

Warren had left with Nate a few days ago to get some material for the turrets. He was grateful for the armor you'd given him. You didn't want him to leave, you wanted him safe and by your side. But relying on another person for your sanity was a terrible thing to do. Smoke some cigarettes, chew on a cigar you bought and get to fucking work.

People were still thanking you, like you'd fought the raiders with your bare hands. It was nothing, you said. But their hugs and thanks were genuine. Not that you really understood it, but it finally started to warm you up. Whatever you had done had helped them and it was all you could ask for.

It ended up better then Quincy.

You thanked whatever was up there that these innocent people were spared and promised to keep working.

It was a few lonely days before Nate and Warren returned, those blessed scraps in tow.

And for some reason you'd fashioned a necklace out of a hex nut and dog tag chain for Warren. Why it was the only thanks you could think of, you wouldn't bother to dwell on.

"That's cute," Nate chuckled, dumping his bag onto the sorting table. "when'd you make that?"

"Just... just durin' a break." It was embarrassing to be called out like that.

But your attention was drawn back to Warren, who was blinking furiously. His scarf was over half his face and his ushanka hat covered up his eyebrows, but there was softness in his eyes. He cleared his throat and patted your shoulder. Let it linger before putting it around his neck. Pointed weakly to the scrap pile.

Sturges, you lovestruck fool.

You weren't ready to feel this way and neither was he, despite how tightly he held the little hex nut between his fingers, still blinking the fog out of his eyes.

"So we *_should_* have enough to make six high powered laser turrets here." you said. The cold and your anxiety fits the past few days were terrible on your throat. "We have the rounds to load 'em with and enough nuclear material to keep 'em goin' for years."

Will it be enough?

Will it?

Or will it be your fault for not working hard enough?

You were going to vomit. Not now. Later.

"Great. You're really something else, Sturges." Nate smiled.

How in the hell could this man still smile when he woke up to his entire world blown into a wasteland?

"Don't thank me yet. Still gotta put 'em together." You pulled your blueprints from the file cabinet and tacked it to the wall. "Thanks again, General. Warren." you said earnestly. "Don't know where I'd be without any of ya."

You'd be dead.

Back to work.


	14. Chapter 14

Something's gotta change. You're working yourself to the bone. Everyone can tell but they don't want you to stop. They're afraid of what would happen if you did.

Why can't you get over this? Man up, you keep saying. The only one saying that is you. Just man up. Men don't cry or mope around... Did that make Jun Long any less of a man? He was hurting so badly. According to your last check-in, he started getting into farming.

'Winter's not the best time for that, though,' he had let out a sad laugh. 'but Marcy can teach me a whole lot.'

You were so, genuinely happy for him. You missed the happy Jun, the one who told jokes and played games.

Marcy, however, didn't even look at you. She didn't respond to your hopeful questions or offers of more help around the house. You had left with the sick feeling that she hated you for some reason.

You wanted to go to the Red Rocket and lose yourself in the power armor. Work yourself to exhaustion and numbness.

Or you could do something useful with your time.

"War, I need target practice."

Half his coffee almost shot through his nose.

"You? Really? After convincing me for hours how you'd never use a gun on a human?" He was getting up, regardless and dragged you to his arms chest. "Looky here. Made this pretty boy with you in mind." he pulled out a laser gun with some pretty intense mods on it. "Sights, barely any kick back, quiet as a skeleton and turns those fuckers to a pile of ashes."

"A pile of ashes? Ain't that kinda... crazy?" Would you feel good about turning a human being into nothing but a pile of ash?

Warren shrugged. "Easier cleanup. Sucks if you're tryin' to get some loot, though." he tapped his scruffy chin. "The Minutemen use laser guns too. Shitty fucking crank muskets. Had to fix a broken crank for Nate in the middle of battle. Anyway, if ya don't wanna use this, I have plenty more. Anything's better than what you got on your hip now, even with all my mods on it."

He was still wearing that necklace. That made you feel some type of way.

You needed to do more for him, you thought. He's given you so much and all you gave him was a fishing pole and a necklace.

Impatient foot taps filled the room. "Speed it up, man. We're burnin' daylight. Or are ya stallin'?"

"Uh... I just..." You had so many thoughts right now they were so hard to handle. And all these guns-- was it more merciful to turn someone to ash? Would it be more traumatizing to shoot someone with a regular gun? Would it matter when you or your people were being attacked? If you shot the wrong person, or an innocent got caught in the crossfire it would certainly be easier to treat a gunshot wound...

"Here." He pushed the laser gun back to you and shut the chest. "We'll play with this one. You can have a breakdown later tonight."

Warren's training range was close to Vault 111. Knowing there were people rushing to get into this thing was crazy. How the fuck did Nate get up to the surface anyway?

Warren carefully placed cans and bottles onto a makeshift fence and plopped some rocks in 'em for stability against the icy winds.

"Alright, shoot em."

Your aim wasn't terrible. You knew *_how_* to shoot a gun-- you were born in the wasteland after all.

Warren whistled. "Hot damn, handyman! You sure you need target practice? Guess I could give ya some tips. Steady hands, deep breaths. Don't have a fuckin' panic attack." He swiped the fence off and put a few more targets up there. "You and I both know bottles don't go attacking settlements. Go ahead." he walked behind you. "Shoot."

You needed bravery.

"Missed. Did I hit a nerve? Great. Are ya angry, riled up?"

"Not really." Three out of five bottles shot. "I don't wanna do this, but I need real practice."

"Fuuck, you wanna kill a bunch of raider bastards with me?" Warren nudged you. "You could get loose, hot stuff. No one would care since it's just raiders."

"W-why are ya sayin' that in such a sultry voice? I don't wanna kill people. Was thinkin' more along the lines of molerats or even a ghoul. Radroaches. You seen any around?"

"A target's a target." he wandered off to another container full of more bottles. "But let's do some more of this first. I'm gonna throw this and you're gonna shoot it."

After the carnival games (you only got a third of the shots, much to Warren's disappointment) he thanked you.

"For what, wastin' time an' ammo?"

"Nah. For bein' brave, as lame as that sounds." He had such an honest smile on his face. "I know a mole rat breeding ground a half hour from here. You have regular armor, right? Cuz you're gonna need it."

Can you really call yourself a pacifist? Are you a goddamn hypocrite on top of being a coward? Will you ever go out and fight for others or will you be hanging back, petrified as usual?

Only you can make these decisions, Sturges.


	15. Chapter 15

He ended up giving you a full set of his favorite armor. Crafted with care, sturdy but well-worn. It wasn't straight off his back, but straight off his top shelf. It probably would've sold for a lot if he hadn't just handed it over to you without a second thought.

"Mole rats, those nasty bastards..." you muttered. "Did ya hear how Dale almost had his arm amputated cuz of one?"

"Dunno who Dale is." Warren admitted.

The roads were slick with ice and sleet, and the sides of it were caked with slushy slippery mud. Clouds were grey and gloomy, as they are in the winter.

"How come ya don't really interact with the folks in Sanctuary, War?"

He shrugged. "Nothin' outside business there matters. Except you."

What a fucking flirt. You smirked.

"You really do like me, huh?"

"Mhm." he nodded. "Fuck, I'll propose the second I see you take down a feral ghoul. But I guess that'll be a while."

Judging by the cracks in the ground and little piles of dirt, you were nearing a mole rat nest. Their droppings littered the grass and broken cement.

"Be ready. Safety off."

Mole rats, wily things. Running beneath the earth like its nothing and breaching cement like water. Those beady little eyes and those sharp, ravenous teeth were ready to rip and latch into its prey. You. And you fared pretty well. A solid C on Warren's "coolness" scale. Three singed mole rats and... You needed more practice.

You brought up feral ghouls. Those poor souls weren't humans anymore and the thought of it twisted your stomach, but they'd be something worth the time.

Worry crossed Warren's face. "Those fuckers are faster than the mole rats. They ain't a fucking game. They'll all gang up on ya and take you down."

You flipped the safety back on your gun.

"I know. I've seen my fair share of ghoul fights."

"O-okay." He nodded. "Get your ass ready, cuz the ghouls don't give a fuck if you're a newbie. Their fuckin' breeding grounds are half an hour away."

Ghouls. Those miserable damn things. You could only hope the souls of the humans they used to be had moved on. Were any of them normal ghouls like Hancock, but gone feral? Did they feel the pain when they got shot? Is there still a human mind inside a body that won't cooperate?

Warren nudged you.

"Hate seein' ya so torn up. Can't help but notice you got real depressed after we read comic books together. I gotta wonder if I did somethin' wrong."

It was awful cold suddenly.

"No. You've been nothin' short of amazin' to me. I'm real glad you're around."

"Now that ya got the answer to placate me outta the way, tell me the real one."

Could you really tell a raider you were out on your own with that just his general presence had triggered this entire thing? Could you admit to your now best friend that, yes, he was the one who lit the match in your mind? You couldn't bear to imagine the guilt he would feel.

"It's complicated."

"So tell me why." He gulped down some water and passed the bottle to you so you could stall with it. Cold glass. Cold water. Felt like ice down your entire body, as if you weren't cold enough.

"I'd been doin' my best to forget." you took a deep breath. "You sat on the couch and asked me about it and it was downhill from there. It was so weird how you said it so casually. Like it was a book I'd read or somethin', and not like somethin' I have to suffer with for the rest of my life."

Warren's boots crunched against wet sticks and pebbles, eyes focused straight ahead. Hands clamped tight around his backpack straps.

"I genuinely believe you meant well, to make conversation. I don't think for a second you meant to do what you did to me. And I don't feel any ill will towards ya for it. You're still my best friend."

"Well, *_friend_*, keep an eye out. We're near the nest." he cleared his throat and pulled out his gun. "You know what to look for?"

"Yeah."

Not like you needed to look too hard. A hoarde of them already spotted you two and started running.


	16. Chapter 16

Now your blood was pumping, warming you from the icy cold, filling you with adrenaline. The ghouls screeched and growled and lunged threw themselves towards you both. Mindless. No time to think-- Warren's bullets were nicking their legs and he was yelling something at you but you couldn't understand.

You jumped away from an attacking ghoul into the claws of another-- You shot at the head of one but missed.

"Body shots! Don't try to style on them 'till you got the basics!" Warren yanked the ghoul off your back and shot it.

The world was spinning.

You aimed your shaking gun to the horde and fired blindly, to Warren's disapproval. Don't aim willy-nilly, idiot, he said.

"Then what do I do?" You managed to duck away from a swipe, but got tackled to the ground from behind. Ears ringing. This was a mistake. Some people weren't cut out for this. But... Despite how much you wanted to make a big show of throwing the ghoul off of you and killing it, Warren slammed it against a wall and shot its head off like it was nothing.

"Get up." he said quickly. "Get into your battle brain."

There were at least ten more ghouls. Limping to you, crippled by the hero of his own story.

He babied you too much.

But if it weren't for him being here you'd be ghoul dinner.

"Fucking pay attention!" He exclaimed, taking down another one. "I ain't always gonna be here to save your ass!"

The ghoul at your feet-- no! Pay attention!

You backed up and steadied yourself. Deep breath. Six ghouls limping. Easy targets.

Got two in the arm and three in the chest. The bodies, the burnt fucking bodies.

"You're too fucking stuck in your own head. I don't know why I gave you a laser gun." He gunned the last one down himself, clearly sick of doing this with you. "Didn't think about that." He searched the sour bodies for loot and handed you some pocket watches.

Your body hurt all over and you were filled with anger.

"Take me to another spot."

"Oh yeah? So you can freeze up cuz you think too damn much? Fuck you. I ain't gonna let you fucking die like that. --Ooh, this one had some cigs." he plucked them from the ghoul's pockets and put offered one to you.

You took it.

"Yeah. I won't fuck up this time."

"We can't go any further this way. Mutie territory." He lit his own cigarette and dragged the ghoul bodies to the side of the street.

No more thinking, just doing.

Focus on being a protector, rather than a provider. Stop thinking so damn much.

He handed told you to sit down but for some reason he was pissing you off.

"I'm not a goddamn child, Warren."

"You're fucking hurt, *_Sturges_*." he hissed and unclipped your shoulder and back piece. The stinging cold didn't help matters. He jabbed you with a stimpak and put some gauze on the wound before fixing you back up. "Don't focus on your thoughts out here. You'll get killed." he said firmly.

He led you, in silence, a ways east. Somewhere along the way you two had traded weapons. Warren's gun was mighty impressive, fit to his specific standards, customized with magazine clippings and an impressive engraving. He used to yell at Nate for using his gun, and yet he just let you use it for this bullshit?

"Oh fuck." Warren never sounded so scared in his life. "Take this and I need you to run back towards the benches."

A stealth boy?

"You hear that beeping? That's a super mutant suicider. They blow up."

You weren't cut out for this.

"Do you have one? We can sneak through the trees--"

"Yeah. Use yours and get somewhere safe."

"Let's both just go right now then!" you whispered.

He turned towards you, face dead serious. The beeping was getting closer.

"Run."

"I hear something!" The super mutants voices felt like they ripped your soul to pieces.

"Why won't you come with me?" you begged. "I don't want you to die out here cuz you were tryin' to help me." You tugged him along, but maybe that was a mistake because you both fell back.

"Humans!"

Warren pulled a grenade pin and lobbed it over to the mutant nest. Gunfire rang out and dogs howled like fog horns.

This was all your fault.

"Take the fucking stealth and go, you fuck!!" he screamed. "I can handle this!" he hurled another grenade, and at the same time one thudded near your feet.

You grabbed him as hard as you could and ran until you were sure your feet were shattered. Every single part of you wanted to break down in fear, pain and anger at yourself but now wasn't the time.

"I'm going to *_fucking_* kill you!" Warren hissed. "Get somewhere safe!"

The tree you two were hiding behind was nothing but ashes and in the dust cloud you could see the flashing of the suicider's bomb.

It was getting closer.

You weren't thinking, you just shot with the vague notion of killing it before it got too close.

"Oh fuck!" Warren breathed. "You--"

BOOM!

"You killed it!" he caught his breath.

"Stupid humans lo-o-ove playing hide-and-seek..."

Heavy footsteps.

"I'm dropping these grenades and we're fucking running. Use that goddamn stealth boy or we'll both die."

"Hm?" Super mutant.

Your fingers were slippery with sweat, ash and blood. But you pressed the button and felt even hotter all over. Warren pulled the pins, pressed them in and dropped the grenades and you both ran and ran and ran.

+

"I'm sorry." It wasn't Sanctuary, but a Minuteman settlement that took you two in.

"Why didn't you fucking listen to me?" he demanded, clenching his fists despite the medic's advice not to. Hatred burned in his eyes. He could've died all because of you. "I told you so many fucking times to run! Fuck!" He slammed his broken arm against the table. "You could've fucking died you idiot!"

"I didn't understand why you wouldn't come with me if you had a stealth boy too!"

"I never had a second fucking stealth boy! I wanted you to get out of there so I could wreck their shit and we could leave!"

The medic hurried back and ended up strapping Warren's arm to the chair. He was too busy yelling at you to notice.

"Then why didn't we just go back and around? Why do we have to go through the goddamn camp?" you demanded.

"They were already suspicious! If you'd just fucking run to safety--" he stopped so abruptly you worried he had a heart attack. His face, blazing and furious had fallen to a dejected sort of calm. "You just wanted me safe. Thanks. But don't you ever put my safety ahead of yours ever again."

You weren't even sure what to say.

"Once I heal up, I'll take Nate and John with me to that camp and we'll clear 'em out." he massaged his temples. "We can go back to target practice after that."

"I appreciate it, Warren. But I don't wanna do that again."

"Yeah. I understand. Just... If nothin' else, don't get lost in your own head out there. Please." He sighed deeply. "I don't ever wanna see you dead. Rest up for a while. I'll talk something over with Nate and Preston."

You let him down and almost got him fucking killed. He gives so much to you and you screw it all up like this?

"Alright. I'm gonna go to--"

"If you're going back to Sanctuary, bring a fucking merc with you. Tell 'em you know me."

You're a fucking failure in every sense of the word.

"I'm sorry, Sturges. About Quincy. About all the shit that happens to you. The world isn't nice to kind people around here."

You bit your lip and took his other hand. Squeezed it hard.

"I'm not gonna leave you here." You decided. He squeezed your hand back. "After all this shit you've done for me, I can't think of a single time I've ever given you back anythin' but negativity."

"Wanna know what would make me really happy?" he sighed. "You not lookin' so fuckin' sad. I get it. You're not cut out for this shit. You're a just handyman."

He made that seem like a stupid job for stupid people. The reality was you were just projecting.

"I just want you to protect yourself. That's it." He pat your arm and gave you a look so forlorn you wondered if you were dreaming. His eyes were intense, like he wanted to tattoo the words on your body.

"I'll learn." you nodded firmly. Was it the cold or the shock you were shaking from, under the blanket? "I promise."

He grinned. "I can always count on a promise from you, can't I?"

"Absolutely."

Somewhere in your heart, you could see it happening. You fending off the town from all sorts of evils on all sides. Just don't think too much. But don't think too little, either.

Sturges, you will save many lives this way. As long as you're standing, Quincy will never happen again.****


	17. Chapter 17

"You two were gone a while." Nate raised his eyebrows. "What happened to your arm?" he asked Warren.

"What's it look like, vaultie?" Warren snorted. "I fucking broke it. We met some muties on the way to a ghoul nest. Broke my arm in the fight. Sturges though," he patted your shoulder and squeezed it. "fuckin' shot the suicider! We got the fuck outta there, but..." there was a big, proud grin on his face and a light in his eyes you weren't imagining. "He's one hell of a guy." he let go of your shoulder and sighed.

"Hey, if it weren't for Warren here, I'd be dead." you admitted. "I'm glad I had him with me."

"That's great, you two." Nate pulled rolls of paper from his bag. Blueprints of things he wanted you to build. He would pay good money for it.

"C'mon man, really? You're gonna shrug our little tale off and get him to work? Fuck off." Warren muttered.

You took the blueprints anyway and gave them a look. A missile launcher and a bear trap. The bear trap was easy enough, but very scary to put together and--

"A missile launcher, general?" you blinked. "Don't you think you could use one of those at the Castle? We don't have room for this here."

"I know you can make it work." Nate winked.

"I don't feel too hot buildin' this." you handed it to him, much to his disappointment. Warren snickered. "There are too many settlements around here we could hit."

"Huh." he scoffed. "Fine."

Nate only bothered with you when he wanted you to build something for him.

Warren noticed your tension and lead you to his shack. It looked like a regular fisherman's house at this point, briny nets slung around the outside, little lighthouses and that fish you whittled him on some shelves. That fishing pole you made him sat alone in a barrel next to the dock door, partnered with some rubber boots.

"I don't get to visit your place often." You got comfortable on the little couch he had and took the blanket he offered.

"Cuz it looks like shit." he tuned into Diamond City Radio and reclined next to you, careful of his arm. He was awful cold, so you shared the blanket.

"I like it." you said of the decor. "Before the winter gets too harsh I can help ya with the foundation an' all that. Hell, maybe tomorrow."

"You're gettin' yourself too busy again." Warren said firmly. He put his free arm behind your shoulders. "Just chill. Not literally, though."

"It's in my blood."

Warren was visibly frustrated that he sat on the wrong side. He couldn't see you out of his left eye and had his right arm broken so he couldn't reach the closeness he wanted without seeming in love with you.

Oh lord.

"Was your mom a handyman like your dad was?"

"She was a farmer. I don't have an ounce of farming in my body." you chuckled.

Warren ran his tongue along his lips. You could feel his heart thumping against your arm.

Don't think terrible things Sturges. Not right now.

"I wish you woulda met my folks. Before they got cannibalized, I mean." he shrugged. "They knew their way around everything."

"Makes sense. You seem to have dipped your toes in everything. It's pretty damn impressive." you paused. "I'm sorry to hear about your parents. I... I can't imagine losin' someone that way."

"I'm not sure if they were my parents, honestly. Or maybe that was a planted memory..." he trailed off, looking at the fishing pole by the door. "Sorta hope for their sake it was planted."

"You implyin' you're a synth?"

His breath shuddered and he kept his arm behind your shoulders.

"I had to tell you at some point. It'd feel, uh, wrong to keep that from you. And if I'm gonna get my heart broken because of it, I wanna get it outta the way." he cleared his throat. "But you said you're cool with synths, right? Or was that Deacon and his tricks again?"

"That was me. And I am." You wanted to look at him, but for once he couldn't look at you. His hand was squeezed tight, his lip between his teeth. "When did you find that out?"

"A few months ago. Almost got killed by someone tryin' to recall me. Nate, Deacon n' me took it down."

The people of the Commonwealth were living their own stories. Their own tragedies. Their worlds are spinning so fast some can't even stand up. You are one of those people, but so is he. And so is everyone else.

You still wondered about the cannibals. About the raiders. The gunners. Those mutants.

"Not meant to be a pity party, hot stuff." he admitted, poking your cheek like a button. "I just wanted to be sure you wouldn't run out on me for it. But I gotta ask ya this, too."

He pulled his arm from behind you and guided your chin so you were looking eye-to-eye with him.

"Do I look familiar to you?"

Surely you'd remember someone like him. Someone with that voice, that grin, the laugh and the way he was so protective. But it wasn't sparking anything more than the urge to kiss him, which was extremely weird for you.

"No."

His face definitely fell. He let go of your chin and shrugged.

"So that Dean guy *_was_* real, I guess." he snorted.

"Warren, you're gay right?"

His eyes widened and he whistled. "If you're askin' for some hot coffee, baby, I care about you to much for that."

"No. Was just wondering if you're this close with everyone or if you have romantic feelin's for me is all."

His face turned red and he popped his neck. Took a deep breath.

"You-you want me to stop touchin' you so much?" he suggested.

"It'd be nice to know for sure. I ain't romantically inclined, but after all of this, I--"

"Yeah." he said abruptly. "I love you. But, uh," he scratched his growing beard. "uh, I just... I... you..."

If there was nothing else you could give this man, you could give him your love and affection. You're on your way to being someone he can look up to. You can give back, and you can give back well. The love you had blooming for him would be enough to keep him smiling that wonderful smile for years.

"C'mere." You pulled his lips to yours. Jesus, was this what those love stories talked about? The sparks and stomach flutters? The need and the urge for more, to feel his skin on yours? And he held your face back so gently, for a moment you wondered if this was a dream.

He pulled back and laughed nervously.

"You really have low standards, don't you? A raider synth?"

"I'd say I got a nice catch." you winked. Motioned to the fishing pole.

"Holy shit." he groaned, eyes now dull. "You're lucky my punching arm is broken." But then he grinned again.

This giddiness was fleeting, especially in the face of the cold reality, but you were prepared for it.


	18. Chapter 18

Love didn't quell the nightmares, but he kept you warm and safe.

Love also didn't keep this discomfort of seeing more Brotherhood of Steel members marching around away. Wastes of great power armor. And Nate had the nerve to invite them to this place knowing Warren was here.

"Nate's been a real dick lately." Warren said through a puff of his cigarette. He was leaning against the wall, side-eyeing the paladins. "I'm guessin' being the leader of everything he steps foot in is really gettin' to his head."

Some of them came to you for power armor advice and general conversation-- apparently Nate told them you were the power armor guy. Part of you wondered if you should just pretend to be friendly, but

"I'm busy." you said curtly.

"He's been workin' on this all week." Warren said of the turret, a disgusted look on his face. "Why dontcha talk to me?"

"We don't talk to raiders, we destroy them."

"Lucky I ain't a raider then, you fuckin' garbage can."

"That's enough outta both of ya." your voice was firm and the anger had you hot all over. Great in the cold, at least. "I can't be of your service, paladin." Was that what they were called? Not that it mattered to you, they were just power-tripping people in good armor.

What were you doing again? The smell of Warren's cigarette distracted you. You thought of his lips and that smile, but shook your head and stared at the blueprint, then to the half-finished turret.

"Why'd he invite these assholes for a tour here anyway?" Warren muttered. "Betcha a hundred caps he's suckin' Danse's dick."

"I don't know if I'd win or lose that one." you admitted. "Makes me worry for all the other settlements the Minutemen are allied with. The gunners and... The gunners and the raiders were one thing. But the Brotherhood of Steel?" The idea of all the carnage was enough to knock the wind out of you.

Warren patted your back.

"Don't get worked up. Me, John, Deacon and Valentine have been workin' things out." his voice was dry and tired at the idea of it. "I'd hate to put a guy like Nate down, but..." he shrugged.

Target practice. Everyone needed target practice. But don't panic. Stop panicking. Breathe.

"Alright." you nodded.

The Brotherhood of Steel weren't the Commonwealth's friend. Seeing your own damn general so enamored with that power struck fear deep in your heart. What were you going to do about it? Let Quincy happen again because Minutemen generals can't be trusted?

Was this anger better than sadness? Probably not, but it felt better.


	19. Chapter 19

What was it like to live in Warren's shoes? This morning he was squinting at a magazine, closing one eye and looking at it, then trying to look at it with his bad eye. His grip on the magazine tightened and he put it away, face scrunched up something fierce at the reality of his vision loss.

Why would the Institute make a raider synth? Was his time in Far Harbor, the time he talked so excitedly about, a lie? Was he really just a Commonwealth synth? There was no doubt about him being a raider. You had so many questions but you wouldn't risk asking them with the Brotherhood clunking around.

He did assure you, however, that he had a crisis. Hell, he snorted, he was still *_in_* a crisis. He wasn't sure about his life anymore. He contemplated suicide more than usual, he said. Either way it didn't sit well with you.

What would you do if you were a synth?

Did Warren used to know someone like you in the Institute, maybe? He didn't push that angle much, but you could tell it still weighed on him.

"You're completely blind in that eye, huh?" you startled him from his hard stare in the mirror.

"Yeah. Sometimes I just wanna stab a stimpak in it and see what happens." he admitted.

"You've been shootin' with a blind eye this whole time? Damn, that's impressive." you grinned. "I saw you teachin' all those people durin' target practice, too."

"I'm half blind, not retarded." he paused. "Eh. Well, maybe I am. I dunno how long I've been without it," he said of his eye. "but it seems like forever. Wish I'd gotten it blown out instead of all white or whatever. At least I'd look hard."

"You could wear an eyepatch." You leaned against the wall and peaked out the window. The christmas lights had blown out and everyone was still too on-edge to suggest putting them back up. Part of you wondered if Marcy was right about the lights being a target on Sanctuary's back.

Oh. Here comes Nate.

"Of course he's back."

"You two have bad blood lately?" you blinked, readying yourself for the blast of cold air from the door.

"What, you blind too now? I told the bastard I hate the Brotherhood and what does he do? Invite the whole damn blimp over. He knows damn well what I am." He sat by the heater, waiting for you to answer the knock at your door.

It was Nate with the money he owed you for upgrading his power armor and making defenses. He also wanted to know if Warren was there. But you had questions.

"Why are we giving the Brotherhood our crops?" you asked about the little event yesterday. "The farmers aren't having much luck in this weather anyway."

Nate wasn't too keen on this and glared right past you, as he usually does, to find Warren.

"Wanna go scavenging?" Nate said.

"Don't look past me. You and me are talkin'." This sort of bravery would surely be short-lived, especially since you stepped outside and closed the door, blocking any conversation from happening.

"Not used to you being so rude. I guess the raider rubbed off on you, huh?" Nate chuckled. Folded his arms. He looked at you like you were nothing but a tool for him to use at his disposal.

"I'm just tryin' to make sense of this. What's the Brotherhood gonna give us? We're down a month's worth of food and got nothin' to show for it. And I know you know about the synths here."

"Protection, Sturges. You don't wanna be on the run, holed up in a museum again, do you? The Brotherhood will keep another attack from happening."

Smugness oozed from his voice like the most infuriating venom.

"I don't trust them."

"Of course you wouldn't. But I'm keeping everyone's little secrets safe. Yours and Warren's too."

"What, they hate gay people too?"

Nate blinked. "You're--?" Shook his head. "I work for the Railroad too, Sturges. You and Warren are safe. Just keep doin' what you usually do."

"Would it kill ya to stop bein' so cryptic?" You knew what he was implying but your brain was withholding it until you could process it. "I ain't gonna work for you as long as these guys are clunkin' around."

"You're not the only handyman in town." he chuckled. "See you later. And tell Warren to visit if he wants to go scavenging."

Back into the warmth of your own house, heart pounding in your ears in anger and confusion. You knew in your soul that the Brotherhood could spell the end of Sanctuary, you'd seen this before. And being so firm with Nate could possibly lead to Warren's death. And yours too, if Nate was telling the truth.

... Was he telling the truth?

"See? He's an asshole." Warren blew the cigarette smoke from his nose. "Hope he doesn't keep this shit up. He doesn't feel like the guy who spared me anymore."

"And he's not really actin' like the guy who saved our asses in the museum either." you muttered.

"Hey. Think *_he's_* a synth?" It was a joke, but your stomach was sick enough thinking of what horror you could've brought onto everyone.


	20. Chapter 20

Snow fall was fine, even magical at points, but this much was uncalled for. Pipes were busting, fuel was being used as quickly as it started and someone was in the clinic for hypothermia. You knew that wasn't your fault but your mind wouldn't let you stop thinking about it. Your heater was faulty and that's why they're sick. The pipes are busted not because they're over 200 years old and survived a nuclear war, but because you're an idiot.

The Brotherhood of Steel weren't much help, loafing around and making their home in someone else's. No wonder people were so angry in the winter, it kept them nice and toasty.

You were fixing up the water heater, the idea just to build a new one rolling in your mind, when Jun came up to you.

"Hey Sturges." Luckily he was decked in warm clothes. The last thing this man needed was a cold. His voice still carried that irreparable depression that put a pit in your stomach.

"Afternoon, Jun. How ya feelin'? You've eaten today, right?"

"Yeah." he was seen at breakfast with some hot cereal. "I'm not the only one who's worried about these guys, right?"

"Nope." Fear and anger gripped your heart at the idea of another Quincy. "You've been doing well at the shooting range, so if worse comes to worse, you'll be safe." You gave him a confident smile in hopes he'd smile back. When he didn't and his eyes glazed over and he looked to the distance, you said, "Hey. DC's station is playin' Christmas music now. The classical station, too."

"I'm just not feeling it anymore." he said, toying with the tools on the table. "Your raider friend said I just need to stop moping around and get up though. So here I am."

"He's pretty blunt, yeah. Hope he wasn't too harsh." You scanned the open air for him, eyes skirting past wastes of power armor and civilians with warm water and coats upon coats of clothes as they manned their market stalls, decked with Christmas decor found in basements and some crafted by hand. Warren was likely at his shack, shivering and smoking, mumbling about his plan to kill his best friend.

But did you really want Nate to die?

"He's nicer than he looks. Uh, no offense. Marcy got so mad that I was talking to him I thought she'd split up with me..."

"That ain't fair to you, Jun. Sorry to hear that. ... Do you wanna go play some pool later?" you suggested. "Warren's gonna be there, just warning you. But he sucks at pool."

"Sure. Are you sure you won't be too busy?"

"I wouldn't offer if I didn't think I had free time." you paused. "Marcy won't split up for you for hangin' out with Warren, right?"

"She thinks he, uh," he rubbed his arms and fixed his scarf and hat. "that he brought the raiders over... Everything's been a nightmare for her lately."

Why were you trying to take their problems? Why were you wearing yourself out emotionally like this?

"She doesn't want to talk to you." Jun continued. "She said you betrayed us by flirting with the enemy."

Oh, Marcy.

"I'll try and get it worked out. I'll come knockin' when it's pool time, alright? No alcohol though, War says that's how people die in the winter."

"Think that's what happened to Jones?" he said of the person in the clinic.

Probably. Anyone would drink in these conditions. You craved just a drop of bourbon. Wanted to get blackout drunk, until you forgot your name, your situation, and when you woke up everything would be normal. But what if you slurred out Warren's secret? What if you barfed up the suggestion that you were a--

"You've been having a hard time too, Sturges. I'm really sorry." Jun said quietly. "You don't really smile like you used to in Quincy anymore. Maybe when you're with Warden. Warren, I mean. I hope you're alright."

"Life's tough, but I gotta be tougher, don't I?" you grinned and winked. Jun was slightly amused by this.

"I hope Warren's taking care of you. You're always taking care of other people's problems."

"He's treatin' me real well." Now your face and ears were burning up at the thought of Warren's low, sweet words and the thought of his goddamn smile. "I'm gettin' kinda embarrassed now, so I'm gonna get on with this water heater, alright? Don't take any shit from these Brotherhood guys, either."

"O-okay." Jun left to get some warm drinks for himself and his wife. Hopefully things would work out between them.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> falling out lol

"Just when I think you got some rest, you look all tense again." Warren was no masseuse but he was doing the best he could to massage your shoulders. "Did Nate piss you off? I'm worried you're gonna die of a heart attack."

Warren could kill Nate. You need to tread carefully, especially with the town occupied by the Brotherhood.

"Don't worry too much, sunshine. But maybe you might know somethin' about this." you took a deep breath, distracted by how soft and sweet Warren could be sometimes, holding your hand and looking into you like you were something more than you were. "Nate implied that I was a synth." Warren furrowed his brows. "I dunno if he's doin' that to scare me into my place with the Brotherhood around, but now it's all I can think about. Don't do anythin' brash, you look pissed off."

"Doesn't that motherfucker know you have enough fucking problems?" Warren's eyes were aflame and he looked like he could rip a tree out of the ground with his bare hands. You pulled him into a warm hug, hoping to quell his fury. "I wouldn't listen to that stupid motherfucker. I don't know if you're a synth or not." his breath was hot on your neck and he squeezed you tight. "But don't let it stress you out. You're Sturges, first and foremost."

You kissed his lips, letting yourself get caught up in the passion you had burning up for him. Warren was a synth and he was doing alright. He had it rough for a while but he's... he's here. He's alive, just like you're alive.

"Hey, if you *_were_* a synth, maybe we did know each other." Warren said, face flustered from the affection. "Do you, uh, wanna talk about it?"

"Not right now. It's too dangerous."

"Gotcha, sweet cheeks." he gave you a kiss on the cheek and let you go, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and offered you one. "I'll protect you with my life."

"Yeah, but what have I ever done for you, Warren?"

"You make me happy." he said softly. "That's all that matters to me. ... Do I make you happy?"

"Of course ya do!"

"Great. We're even. Now, uh, I could try and invite Deacon over here, he might know the truth. But... do you really wanna know?"

"Well yeah. I wanna know the damn truth about myself. Just not in a city surrounded by the Brotherhood."

He looked you in the eyes for a moment, gave you a quick, rough kiss on the cheek, and said he'd be back. He was out the door before you could tell him otherwise. He was gonna talk to Nate in your place, you knew it.

And damn it, this was something you should do on your own.

The ground was slippery, the night sky was polluted from the bright Sanctuary lights, and you just wanted to sleep until everything was over. But you heard Warren and Nate-- mostly Warren, talking just by Nate's door.

'I wanna fucking talk to you alone, how hard is that? You know I hate these fucking assholes.'

'And how do I know you're not going to attack me, Warren? You look on edge.'

'No shit I'm on edge, I--'

"Excuse me," you stepped in, wishing you'd put on your coat when the cold wind blew. Warren blinked and Nate barely acknowledged your existence. "Warren, could ya do me a favor and leave this to me?"

Nate snorted. "Didn't take you for such a tattle tail, Sturges."

"You're really fuckin' askin' for it, Vaultie." there was murderous intent in Warren's voice. "Don't you fuck with Sturges any more! I will fucking kill you. That's a fucking promise."

"Now now, we don't need all that, Warren." You slid between him and Nate and pushed him out of eyesight and made him look at you. "Go get some rest at home, alright?"

"But-- I don't... I don't trust him anymore." His voice cracked. "He's not the-- he's not the man who saved my life, he's just a fucking asshole!" There was an an attempt to fight, but you put a stop to that and told Warren firmly to go back to the house.

He just wanted to protect you.

But you can protect yourself.

After Warren left Nate turned to you expectantly.

"And the guy looks at me like I'm crazy when I say I don't wanna travel with him anymore." Nate's house was warm and full of all sorts of stuff from a jukebox and coffee table to a full, brightly clean bed and more decorations that you'd seen in your life. His weapons collection hung on the wall to the side of the couch. Not little pipe pistols, but mini-guns and big automatic guns that could take you out at the pull of a trigger.

"Nice place ya got here." But you didn't feel comfortable. Nate wasn't himself. You declined the beer he offered you. "I just wanted to know if you were telling me the truth the other day. I didn't send Warren over here like an attack dog."

"That so?" he popped open his beer and looked at you will dull eyes. "And you were too scared to ask me yourself."

"General... You're not the person you used to be anymore. If that's true and we're surrounded by synth-killers, I can't feel safe here. Already I'm worried about Warren."

He snorted. "You think I'm gonna let the Brotherhood slaughter my biggest settlement? My best handyman?" a swig of beer. "You want an honest answer, Sturges? You gotta earn it."

"Earn it? Fucking *_earn_* it? You see all these defenses, all the houses, all this fucking water and shelter we have? The only reason this town exists is because of *_me_*. " Jesus, this guy had a fucking punchable face. "I work my fuckin' ass off day in and day out till I go numb, and you say I have to *_earn_* the answer to whether I'm a goddamn synth or not? Fuck you."

"Where you gonna go, Sturges?" he tilted his head. "Gonna leave this town behind and let everyone die? You're gonna spit in the face of the man who saved you from raiders at the museum? The Minuteman General? We all know you can't protect yourself out there."

Your blood was boiling. His smug fucking face had you seeing red. For a moment you didn't even mind Warren's plan to put him down. He could see how furious you were and stepped back.

"I can't believe I used to think you were a goddamn hero. I don't need your answers or your cryptic bullshit."

If you didn't leave now, you would've punched him. That was a unique sort of anger you'd rarely felt for another human being. You would've beat him into the fucking ground.

"Oh thank fuck you're alive." Warren's voice from the bushes scared the shit out of you.

"Were ya out here the whole time?" You helped him up and led him to the house. He said he was. Because of course he was. "He's a real goddamn piece of work." you said of Nate. "And I've had just about enough."

"Yeah? Hancock an' Deacon are on the way. We could all go to the Third Rail and drink it away."

That sounded delicious. "Ain't it dangerous to drink in the winter?"

"Yeah, but I can't get back up those stairs when I'm drunk off my ass, so we won't get outside. And our little trio can protect you on the way. And you and I... Well, we can spend some time alone at the hotel, too."

"Real tempting, War. Could go for some vodka."

But did you trust Nate to leave this place alone? What if he destroyed it as a form of punishment?

No. He's bluffing. He wouldn't, would he?

According to Warren it would be a day or two before they got here. Maybe that was enough time to get back on Nate's good side.

If there was one left.


	22. Chapter 22

Going into a place like Goodneighbor with your minimal gun skill and your tendency to be frozen in fear wasn't a great idea, judging by your last adventure with Warren. The idea that Nate could enslave the people who looked up to him and trusted him filled you even further with rage and anxiety. Maybe you shouldn't go. Once again, if you leave, their blood will be on your hands. And you can't live with that.

But you're Sturges. You can put on a strong facade as you have with everyone else, because they're suffering too.

"Gearing up to get out, Sturges?" Preston was interested in the gun you had. "Gonna guess it has to do with the fight with the General."

"You heard about that, huh?" you chuckled. "I was seein' red, so I dunno who was around to hear it. Gonna go drink in Goodneighbor with Warren and his friends."

"Sounds like a good time if you ask me."

You pulled a piece of paper from your jacket pocket and handed it to him, praying Preston didn't need to use it.

"Since the General's actin' kinda suspicious, Warren an' I put together an escape plan. He's left some guns and even an RPG in a safe at his shack."

Poor, soft-hearted Preston. You could see the pain in his face and how he looked off out to Nate's house. Had he made a mistake? Were you and Warren overreacting?

"Only if, Preston. I know you trust him. I don't."

"After what he said to you, I don't blame you. Stay safe out there, Sturges."

"I'll only be gone a week, don't worry."

  
Mama Murphy didn't have any insights to grace you with like she did before Quincy's end. Jun told you to have fun and let loose. Marcy loathed you. And whispers of you being a synth went from person to person like a daisy chain.

Why couldn't life be easy in this goddamn wasteland?

It felt like you were betraying everyone when you were just gonna be off drinking for a week. No big deal, right? Right. Right...

Your things were packed and Warren was very adamant about the stealth boys he was giving you.

"You have enough for yourself too, right?"

He showed you the three in his bag with dull eyes and went to dig out some armor for the both of you.

"You're real good with your hands." The armor was handsome and looked as reliable as his guns, made with more care than you could imagine. "Did you make armor in Maine, too?"

"Somethin' I really got into when I got with the raiders. I know the raider boss in Libertalia really liked it. Paid me well." He shrugged.

"Oh yeah? Didn't know raiders were on payroll."

"Of drugs, sex and caps, sure." He finished up putting on his armor and quickly put on his over-over clothes.

Finally you both were set up and ready to travel for a week or so. Only thing you wish you had right now was a handheld campfire and a carrying-brahmin. The plan was to wait at the truck stop for the team to show up.

Hancock and Deacon were acquaintances. Nice enough. Hancock didn't give Mama Murphy chems while he was around, but you still weren't sure how to feel about it. In your state of mind you might decide to actually do chems.

"Babe, you're clenchin' your jaw like you're chewin' metal. ... You nervous?"

"Nah. Still got a lot on my mind is all. But I'll let it go while we travel. Learned my lesson last time."

"Atta boy."

A day or two of watching the Brotherhood from afar and there the heroes were, Hancock bundled up like crazy and Deacon with layers and layers of clothes.

"So, heard you two wanna get drunk as hell, eh?" Hancock nudged Warren. "Third Rail's the best place to go."

"How much alcohol can you hold, Sturges?" Deacon asked.

"I make Warren look like a lightweight." This was gonna be fun. Just focus on the fun and not the fact you're effectively leaving your town to burn again.


End file.
